Stacia Kane Quotes

IF her life had taught her anything, it was that you never really knew what people had going on beneath the surface. People were shit. The only difference between them and animals was people felt the need to hide it.

Would Terrible actually have killed me if I hadn't agreed to come up?" "It's entirely possible, yeah." She said it like it was no big deal. Like it was normal or something, rather than psychotic. Who the hell were these people?

Aw, naw, ain't sayin that. You do what you need an ain't try telling you no, but ... takin you to bed, want you there, not just your body. An want you knowin it's me. Love you, Chess. Dig?

It was her problem, and she'd deal with it. Because dealing with personal problems was so fucking high on her list of skills.

You know I do, aye? Love you right, Chessiebomb.

Funny, she had all that ink on her skin to protect her from ghosts and magic, and he were damn sure doing what he could to protect her outside that, but weren't anything he could do to keep her safe from the memories. He

Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed; in that sense at least, this day was no different from any others.

I sink you, that I will not be sunk by you.

Bump stood in the middle of the room, wrapped in a heavy fur coat, with a black silk top hatcovering his fuzzy head and unnecessary sunglasses hiding his pale face. He looked like the Abominable Snowpimp.

Like electricity running through her body or the thick velvet of magic making everything tingle; she was hot and cold and shivering from both, her sense in total overload.
- City of Ghosts

HOw did you tell someone the truth when you weren't even sure what that was?

Not that she'd have a choice in the matter, but it made her feel a little better to pretend she would. To pretend she'd tell him to fuck off instead of agreeing to almost anything he wanted because she needed her drugs. And fuck, she didn't just need those now. She needed protection. Needed this sleazy drug-dealing pimp with his pornographic decor and his appalling pajamas.

With magic almost anything was possible; all objects had energy, and energy could be manipulated.

You so f*ckin pretty, you got that?" The hand moved lower. "So pretty everywhere."
She swallowed. Her mouth had gone so dry it was hard to talk. "To you, maybe."
"Aye." His lips moved further up her neck until he pulled away enough for their eyes to meet. "Aye, to me.

Sure. Focused. Let's totally ignore any possible other avenues and just tunnel-vision our way along. Maybe we'll get lucky and blunder into a Lamaru hangout, right?

Her sigh felt dragged from the depths of her soul. Great. Working for Bump again.

Damn. Six feet four and everything in proportion, the quote went. It was true in this case.

NO reader has ANY obligation to an author, whether it be to leave a review or to write a "constructive" one. I put out a product. You are consumers of that product. Since when does that mean you have to kiss my ass? Hey, I like Pop-Tarts and eat them a few times a year; since when does that mean I'm obligated to support Kellogg's in any way except legally purchasing the Pop-Tarts before I eat them? I wasn't aware that purchasing and consuming a product meant I was under some sort of fucking thrall in which I'm only allowed to either praise the Pop-Tart (which to be honest isn't hard, especially the S'mores flavor) or, if I am going to criticize a flavor, offer a specific and detailed analysis as to why, phrased in as inoffensive and gentle a manner as possible so as not to upset the gentle people at Kellogg's."
[Something in the Water? (blog post; January 9, 2012)]

Oh, who was she kidding? She wasn't fucking lucky. But hope sprang eternal, for whatever stupid reason.

Looking at dead bodies wasn't really very high on her Things-Chess-Enjoys list. And yeah, her total knowledge on what people in relationships did might fill a shot glass - especially if she used extra-large letters to write SEX - but something told her "looking at dead bodies" wasn't a generally accepted togetherness-type activity, either.

Shit. I want you, Chess. Make no mistake on that one, dig? Want you bad. So bad I ain't even can think of any else sometimes, 'cept gettin you under me. Ain't give a fuck what pills you swallow get you through the day or what happens you ain't got em, aye? Still want you.

Chess lied to herself every day; it was just something she did, like taking her pills or making sure she had a pen in her bag. Little lies, mostly. Insignificant. Of course there were big ones there, too, like telling herself that she was more than just a junkie who got lucky enough to possess a talent not everyone had. That she was alone by choice and that she was not terrified of other people because they couldn't be trusted, because they carried filth in their minds and pain in their hands and they would smear both all over her given half the chance.

What are you doing here? They shared one of those awkward kiss-hug-or-what moments, ending up kissing on the cheek. Odd, that. She and Lex had never really been cheek-kissers, but since they weren't kissing anywhere else these days she guessed it was the thing to do.

Thou mutters, Miss Putnam. Speak up."
Like she couldn't hear. She'd hear Chess if Chess ran to the other end of the room, covered her mouth with her hands, and whispered "Fuck you," but she couldn't hear Chess standing four feet away from her.

Terrible grabbed her as she rounded the corner, his lips curved in what would have been a grin on a normal person, which he wasn't. On his scarred, shadowed face, the smile made him look like he was getting ready to bite.

Meaning to ask, where'd all them scratches come from? Lookin like you had yourself a knife fight with a dwarf, aye?

Got some knowledge for you."

"Oh? What's that?"

His lips touched her forehead. "Don't give a f*ck what else I got. Ain't never sharin you.

But when he was with Chess he wasn't the bad guy no more. He was the one keeping her safe, making her smile. He still wasn't good enough for her, but he were better than he'd ever been. That mattered.

That was the problem with love, though, wasn't it. It couldn't be helped, couldn't be controlled. It just roared in and took whatever it wanted, destroyed whatever it wanted; the most dangerous addiction of all, because nobody survived it intact.
But an addiction that was impossible to let go.

But she never thought about the way Terrible looked, at least not that way. He hadn't been ugly to her for months; he'd gone from just being a face she was familiar with to being a face she loved to look at, a face that made her ... .happy. Who gave a shit what anyone else saw when they looked at him, when they saw the crooked, many times broken nose, or the scars, or the jutting brow or thick jaw and heavy muttonchops? She knew what she saw, and that was all that mattered. Knew what was behind those hard dark eyes, and wanted it more than anything.

Now mayhap you quit givin Terrible the fuckin slurpy-eyes an give Bump the listening, yay? Thinkin you can? Gots some fuckin chattering wants doin, needs you fuckin head on straight up.

When had being an addict gotten so fucking hard? So exhausting? It had been so easy for so long; she had a steady supply, she kept to herself, nobody bothered her. Now she was constantly up to her ears in intrigue and complications, being torn in every direction but her own, all thanks to her need for those pills

Gots me an idea, now. Whyn't you come on into bed with me, let me give you it.

Ain't got no shit to fuckin worry on, dig. Ladybird good enough to handle any all comes she fuckin way.

She stayed out there, staring into the snow until the chevelle's engine noise faded into the distance. He was gone, and she was alone up there, alone and apart from the city so peaceful under it's snowy blanket. The buildings spreading from the edge of her roof were full of people, full of lives. Inside them lovers huddled together against the cold. Inside them families laughed or fought or whatever it was families did together. And here she stood, invisible, trapped, alone. And for the first she can remember alone didn't feel very good. And that was the scariest thing of all.

I'm not into danger, either." "Aw, Chess. You so into it you ain't climb out with a rope. Why else you do your job, live down here, buy from Bump?" "It's just - I mean - I just do, is all." Her cheeks burned. She shouldn't have let him come in here. She should have just sent him home and let him wash his stupid shirt himself. "No shame in it. Some of us needs an edge on things make us feel right, else we ain't like feeling at all, aye?

She wasn't considering it, not really….but he did have a point. It was her job. Save the cold, and the disgusting suggestion that she might actually turn a trick or two wasn't a half bad idea. That was the problem with Bump. Despite the fact that he was practically a textbook villain – she expected him to grow a mustache to twirl any day- his ideas made sense.

Mine, Chessie." [...] "Aye? Fuckin--mine. Not his.

He kissed her, slow and tender, like she mattered. Because she did, at least to him. And she thought she might even be able to believe it.

Terrible thought she was brave. She remembered it now, heard his voice in her head as if he stood next to her. "They scared. Not you, though." Terrible thought she was brave, and if he - a man whose name was Terrible, a man whose path people scrambled to get out of - thought so, it must be true. She could do this, she would do this.

He's my family," she said finally. Quietly. "He's everything.

Oi, mate," he said, jabbing his thick index finger square in the center of Richard's chest. "No need to get grabby, is there?

So everyone knows they get to see Dr. Demon Slayer on a regular basis."
Megan almost choked on her steak. "The who?"
"The demon slayer. That's what the station specified we were to call you.

She'd really made the fuckup that kept on fucking up, hadn't she?

How the hell was it that she'd always been so comfortable with him before, but as soon as she'd realized she was in love with him, as soon as she told him that ... she was nervous all the time?

Giving a fuck what other people thought was a road straight to misery and pain; an obsession of the weak. To believe otherwise was to live in a fairy tale.

Changed my thought. Let's us go. Back my place, aye?" He was smiling, that smile she'd always loved, while his hands distracted her and his body warmed her through her clothes. Summer drew closer every day, and the temperatures reflected that, but it seemed like she was always cold when he wasn't around. "C'mon.

She was here, and she was stronger than this, harder than this. They could make her hate herself, make her doubt herself, but they couldn't take away her deepest instinct. Not just the need to survive, but the need to survive long enough and strong enough to tell them to go fuck themselves.

Any fuckin place I gots the thinking of where some shit maybe got stuffed into, I ain't for fuck wanting get my fuckin look-see in.

And the living prayed to their gods and begged for rescue from the armies of the dead, and there was no answer. For there are no gods.

It was like digging for gold in a garbage pile. And if that little analogy didn't tell her something, she didn't know what could.

Well, lookee there. Be a fuck of a night, yay?

We don't like murders here, said a man's voice, low and threatening, from the back of the crowd. Megan glanced at Cassie and her friends. They looked away, as if they didn't see what was happening.
Anger boiled in her chest. Why wouldn't they leave her alone? She hadn't killed anyone. She hadn't killed Harlen Trooper, all those years ago. She knew it and the judge knew it. She hadn't even been charged.
If I wanted to, I could have you all killed, she thought, and was stunned when the thought didn't scare her the way it should. She looked at their faces, stony and stubbled, shiny with alcoholic sweat. The power in her chest hadn't worked against Ktana Leyak, but it could against them, this miserable bunch of humans with their heavy boots and beer guts.
She pictured those guts exploding. She pictured the terror in their eyes when they realized they were messing with the wrong fucking demon, they were -
Demon?

Give you whatany you want, Chessiebomb. Anything.

Well, clearly someone you trust isn't really someone you should be trusting, she said without thinking, and regretted it when Terrible glanced at her. He did it fast, just a quick cut of his eyes in her direction and then away again, but she saw it. She felt it. It was starting already. She wished she could say she was surprised, wished she hadn't been waiting for it, expecting it the way she expected rain from black clouds overhead. Nothing in the world was permanent, especially not happiness. She'd always known that. She just wished life would stop proving her right.

She settled for patting him vaguely on the back and wishing she was anywhere but there. Although he did smell good.

So many answers flew through her mind that she didn't know which to pick, aside from the obvious truth that "my drug dealers enforcer and his rival who I used to fuck" was definitely not it.

Chessie ... shit, Chessie, I love you so bad." His teeth on her throat, biting hard, his lips soothing the spot. "So fucking much, so ... so bad.

So don't go, she wanted to say, but she couldn't. Not when he looked so happy, so excited about what his future might hold. That was the way normal people felt when they were trying to move up, when they'd found someone to love who loved them back. Not the way Chess felt, like she was trying to stem an arterial bleed with her fingertip.

Terrible's eyes narrowed; he gave Chess the kind of look most people reserved for ax murderers. Ax murderers who killed children. And kittens.

How I can do that one, aye? Leave my Chessiebomb there without me.

Most Debunkers spent their money on actual things, rather than just buying anything they could swallow, smoke or snort. Unlike Chess.

You let people into your life and you ended up getting hurt. Or hurting them. Either way, the road to pain was paved with other people, and she wanted no part of it anymore

And what was the point of an easy answer like that. Where did it lead. Nowhere good, in his experience. Easy answers got to be an addiction; Terrible had spent his whole life seeing people reach for easy but find they really grabbed hard without realizing it.

Love you too Chess. You got that aye? Ain't you know it? Love you right, till it hurts. Ain't going nowhere ... ... ... ...

It's like touching you in your unmentionables," Maleficarum said. "We never could, m'lady, not ever. Mr. Dante wouldn't like it.

Shit. Well, maybe taking her jeans off would make him more inclined to say she could check out his tunnels.
Of course, he was pretty much guaranteed to say yes if she let him check out her tunnel again, but ... no.

She wasn't going to lie and she wasn't going to try to hide Terrible or who he was. She loved him and he was hers, and that made her so proud her chest hurt, and if anybody didn't like it they could go fuck themselves.

Not that Beulah didn't present her own set of problems. She did. Not least of which was fighting the temptation to fake some scribbles on her and let the ghost have fun.

Always want you, Chessiebomb. Always.

Nobody spoiled for a fight like a group of Downside hookers around the corpse of one of their own.

It seems too easy."
"some of the best things are," he said.

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But she was the only woman
the only one in the entire world
Terrible loved ... If she lost that, she'd lose what made her special. She'd be happy, yes. She'd find some other man eventually, probably, and maybe he'd be good enough. She'd look different, act different. Be different. She would never again feel that, though, the feeling of being the most special woman in the entire world, of knowing no one else could possibly be as happy as she was because they honestly didn't know how lucky they were, how truly and amazingly lucky. Because they didn't feel like they'd been lost their entire lives and they'd finally found home.

She'd fucked him over hardcore. She'd betrayed him and she'd lied to him, and she knew that as far as he was concerned she'd led him on and used him as well, had consorted with people who wanted to see him dead and given them information to help them make him so. Most of all, she'd hurt him. And if the pain in her chest was anything close to what he'd felt, she was more than willing to admit he deserved to get his own back. Was willing to do more than admit it; was willing to take it, in the hopes he'd eventually decide she'd been punished enough and they could maybe move on.

Smart to avoid being with anyone she might actually really feel something for, who might actually really feel something for her. Smart to avoid getting involved with people she knew she could -

Just thinking about him made her smile, sent a cheerful little shiver up her spine. Love was terrifying and weird, and sometimes uncomfortable. But it was so fucking sweet

How the hell did people do this, this emotion-and-forgiveness thing? How did they stand these feelings? She could barely handle it and she had lovely, necessary, reason-for-living drugs to smooth over the rough spots. How did people do this shit sober?

Then again, she had-through a bizarre combination of skill, dumb luck and incredible misfortune-managed to build up a file any Debunker would envy.

If Mrs. Morton would stop verbally jacking off her husband and son, this would all be done so much more quickly, but then Chess figured it was just about the only sex the woman got.

Yeah, I lied and I shouldn't have and it was lousy of me and I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted that, and I wish so bad I could take it all back, okay? But we both know which one of us is lying now and it's not me. So you call me when you want to actually talk to me and not just yell at me or tell me what a shitty person I am. I already ... yeah, I already know that, okay?

I ain't ... Don't know how to say it up right. Never
Fuck, Chess. Thought you was dead once before, you recall? Never felt so bad in my life, not ever. Then on the other day, thought you was gone and just ... I can't do it, bein without you.

So aint you think just causen you in this car now means any damn thing. It aint. He pretending it do, he lying and saying it do, but it aint. Pretend that other dame just he friend, so he say, but aint like it true.
Some churchbitch she is too. Leastaways that what Amy telling me. Amy say she met her once and she aint shit.

Seeing him was like being hit in the chest. Like something exploding inside her, a quick ravenous fire that made her shiver. So bright and hot it still amazed her that no one else seemed to notice it, that every eye in the place didn't turn to her while she went incandescent.

What the hell was the matter with these people? How did they not see that of all the people on the planet, she was probably the least qualified to help them with their emotional problems? It was like asking a dog to do algebra.

Yes, my enormous sexual appetite tends to scare men away. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my dinner date.

Devil drew his fist back, ready to hit Terrible one final time while he lay defenseless. Hot bright hatred raged through Chess's body. She still had her knife; if he hit Terrible again, if he killed Terrible, she was going to slice that motherfucker's throat all by herself and dance in his blood.

But as much as Greyson's overly warm body had to be worked around and compensated for in summer, at that moment she was eternally and ridiculously grateful for it. She almost thought she heard her own skin sizzle when it came into contact with his: some of the cramping in her muscles relaxed.
Only to tense up again when she saw, through her half-closed eyes, Greyson's second gaurd and Malleus's brother, Maleficarum, advancing on her with a hypodermic needle. Something clear squirted ominously from it's sharp silver tip.
"Oh, no," she managed, "You are not giving me a shot."
"'Sonly under the skin, m'lady. You'll barely even feel it, honest." Maleficarum's features did no do "innocent" well: he looked like a serial killer trying to hide a severed head behind his back.

Love you, Chessie," he murmured. "Ain't never ... Fuckin love you, more'n anything.

Love was full of secrets. Love masked so many evils. Love controlled people, it liked to them, it made them believe things that weren't true and it hid the truth from them. People said love was blind, but what they meant was that love blinded them. It made them more vulnerable than anything else could.
And it felt so fucking good.

I was thinking we could get a picture of you holding a pitchfork or something. Maybe a big wooden cross? Sound good?"(Brian)
She stared at him. He lifted his hands and leaned back in his seat, as if he was afraid she might start spitting on him. "Hey, only joking."
"Very funny."
"Oh, I do love jokes." Greyson Dante stood by her side.
"Hello, Mr. Dante. I'm afraid this is a private conversation, so you will, of course, be going now."
His grin widened. Was there no way to insult the man?